


multitude of bites

by WhiteSheep



Series: Monsters [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Brother/Brother Incest, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Creampie, Deepthroating, First Time, Knotting, Large Cock, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Size Difference, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Werewolf Sex, belly bulge, i´m going to hell anyway, this is many types of dark and fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteSheep/pseuds/WhiteSheep
Summary: A bearer of Lycanthropy in full transformation only has two basic instincts:1) to kill;or 2) to mate.But don´t worry, though. These types of things tend to stay in the family.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Monsters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629994
Comments: 17
Kudos: 317





	multitude of bites

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaim: this is for entertainment only, the author does not condone of breaks of consent/rape nor abuse of minors.
> 
> Disclaim 2: PLEASE do not use this or any of my other stories as an example of what real and healthy sex is/should be (let's keep in mind that condoms are not _just_ to prevent pregnancy. And if you're planning to stick something somewhere or let someone stick something in you, LUBE is your absolutely BEST FRIEND. Dry sex is only fun in theory!) and even LESS of what a healthy, nontoxic relationship is/should be.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: this contains extreme descriptions of a minor being raped, be aware of potential triggers

“Lycanthropy is not a disease in the sense that it does not cause harm to the body. It´s more of a genetic variation. A syndrome.”

“I don´t give a fuck what they are, they are monsters.”

“Hey, now, that´s not-”

For someone so against werewolves, Carus thought in the security of his mind, Basilides certainly didn´t mind growling like one when angered. The older boy grabs Johannes by the shirt and hauls them out of the chair and almost over the table, baring teeth with a cigarette between them. “Fuckin´ say another word, you piece of shit, and you´re gonna swallow your teeth, heard me?”

The brunette squeals, eyes wide like dishes. “S-s-sorry!”

Basilides snarls wordless and shoves the other back to their chair, before standing up with a loud screech of his chair and stomping away. His still half-full tray is left behind.

Carus looks away from the people scrambling to get out of the older boy´s way and turns to his lunch. He stabs a piece of bacon with his fork and brings it to his mouth.

“What- _ouch!_ ”

He looks up to see Johannes rubbing their head with an indignant expression at Astell, who wrinkles her nose in annoyance. “Way to put your whole damn foot in your mouth, asshole,” she says, her normally indifferent face with a slightly downward curve of her lips, “don´t talk about this kind of crap as if you are discussing breakfast. Werewolves are problematic for a reason.”

“But if we don´t discuss it, we are never going to solve the problem- ouch! Hey, stop hitting me!”

“Save your social agenda to your debate club. Have you ever stopped to think Basil doesn’t like werewolves for a reason?”

“Prejudice-”

“Our mom was eaten by one,” Carus says.

Johannes suddenly shuts up and he can feel their shock in the silence, almost like a sound itself, while he keeps eating.

Astell sighs.

“W-… what?” they eventually squeak.

Carus rasps the rest on the mashed potatoes from the plate and stuffs it in his mouth, humming in appreciation. “Our mom,” he explains after he swallows, keeping the plastic fork between his lips as he finally looks towards the brunette, voice bored, “she went take off the trash one night and was eaten alive on our front yard by a feral werewolf. Basilides found her the next morning. Well, what was left of her anyway.”

They have paled to an almost grey tone, mouth hanging open, glasses on the tip of their nose. Everyone else on the table has become quiet, hunched shoulders and eyes turned to their plates, empty or not. Only Astell doesn´t pretend the conversation is not happening, rubbing her eyebrow with a look of faint dismay on her face – she´s nice like that, Carus ponders. Not the most expressive person, but pretty – with her black straight hair falling to the middle of her back and sharp eyebrows and soft, round body – and very aware of people´s feelings.

It helps she is not scared away easily. She has been his friend for two years now. It´s two years more than anyone else has been able to will stand him.

Or Basilides.

“Y-you two are brothers?!”

Johannes, he imagines, just reached their limit. Two and a half months. Not bad, really.

He smiles with a gram of humor when Astell makes a sound of disgust. “I´m gonna staple your mouth shut, I swear to God.”

“I- they never mentioned it! How was I supposed to know?!”

“The fact they have the same last name didn´t clue you in, dumbass?”

Johannes stammers a half-protest and a half-excuse and Carus decides that as amusing it´d be to watch his friend wrangle with words only the brunette, he´s done with his lunch and the cafeteria is way too crowded for him to stay beyond necessary. He stacks his tray on top of Basilide´s before standing up, ignoring the way everyone side-eyes him carefully as he walks away from the table and drops them over the kitchen counter. Waving at the lunch lady, he then turns and leaves through the door, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone besides a quick text to Astell.

_-see y at class_

_-not if i get suspended for punching an idiot_

_\- :)_

Tapping his phone on his chin, Carus wonders if he´s going to have to find another table to eat tomorrow.

**

To his immense surprise, there´s not a trail of destruction for him to follow as he walks down the hallway and Carus is forced to actually think a little to figure out where to go.

But just a little.

It´s no great challenge to track down a creature of habits and predictable patterns. Five minutes later, he pushes the drama club´s bathroom door open and finds Basilide sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, lounging with open legs as he cups a hand around a new cigarette between his lips, the other flicking on a lightener. Already a few cigarette butts are littering the dirty floor around him and as Carus steps inside, a flame bursts alive.

His brother´s green eyes slide up to him, double lidded eyes half-closed and lazy.

His knuckles are bleeding, fingers painted red, and Carus automatically flicks his eyes to the side. Not shockingly, above the five sinks, every single mirror is broken, a single point of impact sending cracks in a circular pattern like a spider web and even missing a few pieces. The shards filling the sinks and scattered around the floor explain that.

Carus rubs his neck and averts his eyes. He has to bite his tongue to avoid commenting.

Basilides stuffs the lightener on his pants´ pocket and folds a leg to his chest, taking a drag with the cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger before exhaling the smoke through the nose. He lets his arm resting over the knee. “Shut up.”

“I didn´t say anything.”

“And you better not to,” he drawls, resting his head against the wall, “better some shitty mirrors than that retarded´s face.”

That, Carus doesn´t argue.

He shoves his hands on his pants´ pockets and tries not to feel too awkward standing there, in the middle of the drama club´s bathroom with only his brother. There isn´t even the chatter of a distant crowd here to act as a buffer to the silence, the empty, huge theatre between this place and the nearest hallway swallowing any sound and isolating them from the rest of the school. The lunch break is still ongoing, he thinks. It´s probably going to take ten or more minutes before the bell rings.

“What are you doing here?” Basilides asks around the cigarette, hand muffling his voice.

Carus frowns his nose slightly. “You stormed out.”

“Of course I did. That doesn´t answer why the fuck you followed me.”

He could answer what he always thinks in moments like this-- _you´re my brother, what else I´m supposed to do?_ It´s not a choice exactly. It´d easier to pat a spooked porcupine than to be sentimental with his brother while he´s in a mood. And it´s not like he´d accept it, anyway. From anyone else, sure.

Just not from Carus.

He sighs quietly and turns to the paper towel dispenser, ripping out some and soaking them a little with some drops of water from the sink, before approaching the older boy. He crouches down before him and reaches for the hand not holding the cigarette, circling gently his wrist and bringing it closer to him. Basil´s gaze is unmoving and he doesn´t react as Carus starts to carefully clean to blood from his fingers, beyond taking another drag.

Carus frowns down at his brother´s hand, at splint skin and bruises. “You should go to a hospital. It could have glass in your cuts,” he mumbles.

Predictably, Basil snorts, smoke spilling from his mouth as he speaks. “Yeah, right.”

“I´m serious.”

“This ain´t silver, baby bro.” Chin resting over the heel of his hand, he grins unpleasantly – lips parting and baring startling white and sharp canines, doesn´t matter how furiously Basil smokes and eats colored food and grits his teeth to the point of causing cracks.

He once ripped out every one of his teeth with a plier.

Their dad had to wrestle Basil and tied him to the bed to stop him from ripping off his own jaw with a kitchen knife, after he woke up to them back on his mouth the next day, bright and new. He was half-way done with one side, skin peeling back with muscles carved open and exposing the white of his jaw bone, slashing tendons like someone cutting chords of a violin, before Carus caught him on the bathroom. He couldn´t talk for a week after.

Now he doesn´t even have a scar.

He swallows thickly at the memory and forces his voice to not waver. “You can still get an infection. If you lose your hands, I´m not wiping your ass for you.” Finishing the first hand, he gestures impatiently for the other.

Basil rolls his eyes then compliantly changes the cigarette from hands and lets him grab the still bloody one. “I´d probably grow them back anyway. Wanna bet?” He snickers, bringing the cigarette to his mouth. “If they do, you clean my room for a month. If they don´t- well, you also will have to clean my room. Heh, I like those odds.”

“This isn´t funny.”

“Blah, you have no sense of humor.”

“No, I do,” Carus says and he can hear the coldness in his own voice as he finishes cleaning Basil´s hand. He stands up and turns to the closest sink. “Yours is just shitty.”

The older boy laughs. “ _Harsh_.”

Carus ignores him, throwing away the blood-soaked paper and the biggest pieces of glass from the mirror, before grabbing a dry paper towel and carefully wiping the edges of the sink and the faucet, removing any smaller shard not obvious to the eyes. After that, he then starts washing his own hands, fingers smeared with drying blood. Redish water flows into the drain.

He doesn´t exactly startle when a heavy hand lands on his head, making it tilt forward, but he stops moving as Basil stops behind him. Fingers curl slightly against his scalp, not digging or grabbing his hair, long and strong and covering entirely the back of his head. Carus feels his chest brushing against his shoulders when the older boy leans forward to put out the cigarette on the white tile of the sink, dropping the butt there before resting the palm on the edge. “You still haven´t answered me, ya know,” Basilides says, casual. “Why are you here. I told you to stop following me around.”

Carus breathes out, blinking quickly to his hands still under the open tap. They started to shake. “You know why,” he mutters quietly.

His brother hums and slides his hand through his hair, nails dragging across his scalp gently. “I can´t die, or did you forget that? Silver ain´t cheap and I promised the old man I wouldn´t steal until at least I´m not his problem anymore. What else do you want?”

 _For you to not want to die_ , he thinks but doesn´t dare to say anything. He closes the tap, biting his lips as a shiver climbs his back, feeling the warm palm of his brother over the nape of his neck, brushing up the short hair there. Lips meet the skin under his ear, then, and Carus bite back a whimper as a hot tongue slide over his pulse, sharp teeth pressing slightly for a moment – an empty threat, always, that still manages to make his heart trip. Basil soon simply nips his jaw gently and then nuzzles behind his ear, breath rolling warm over his neck when he talks, voice pitched low, “Sorry about the joke, okay? I´ll go see the school nurse after the bell rings.”

 _No, you´re not,_ Carus thinks with a shaky breath, _and no, you won´t_.

He shifts, turning away from his brother and pushing him off. “We´re at school,” he says, voice trembling a little.

Basil swings back at his shove but as soon as Carus turns, he steps closer again bracing both hands on the sink, one at each side of the younger boy. Trapping him. He leans down when Carus presses himself back, twisting his head to the side and refusing to meet his eyes. “You are fucking pissed at me?” it sounds more like a statement than a question.

When Carus doesn´t say anything, Basil grabs his jaw – forefinger and thumb squeezing each cheek and making him pout rather stupidly, forcing his head up. It´s uncomfortable. The great difference in height means he has to bend his head backward a lot to be able to meet the sharp green of his brother´s eyes. The older sibling has his head tilted to the side, one eyebrow raised.

He looks amused.

“You are, aren´t ya?”

Carus scowls and tries to shake off his brother´s grip, but he doesn´t allow it. In matters of strength, possibly only their dad can match Basil.

His fingers dig in the tile of the sink, shaking, as Basil slowly leans down. “Hmm, well, I can´t have my baby brother mad at me, now, can I? What if I…” The tight hold on his jaw soften and Carus´ breathing shudders to a stop, whole body tense, as he brushes their lips together. “… make up for you, hm?” His words are a low rumble, mouth moving against his and Carus squeezes his eyes shut as he feels something hot and wet caressing his lower lip, his breath warm, teasing. And as his brother´s tongue slides inside his mouth and deepens the kiss, his small gasp is muffled – a protesting whine, the taste of tobacco sharp and familiar on his taste buds, even though Carus never smoked a cigarette in his life.

He tries to shift back but the sink is already digging on his lower back. Raises his hands to Basil´s chest and tries to push, at the same time his brother teases his mouth a little more open and Carus allows it, unevenly breathing through the nose. Basil´s sound of approval pours into his mouth. His heart is erratic. Fingers careen over the curve of his hips, spreading open over his belly-- then turn down and slip down the front of his pants and Carus´ breath catches in his throat, body jolting away to break the kiss, but a hand curls over his nape and doesn´t allow it. His protest is stifled, turned into a moan as he feels Basil´s hand, huge and powerful and so damn familiar, wraps around his half-hard cock and slides up and down his length ever so slowly.

He´s panting softly, squirming, and grips at his brother´s wrist in a desperate attempt to stop him. “Wait,” he croaks out when the tongue inside his mouth retreats for a moment. “P-please, brother- mnph.”

He´s shaking. Basil doesn´t seem interested in hearing him, those rough, calloused fingers brushing and rubbing tantalizing long, lazy strokes, making him shiver. He never really is when he gets like this.

Soon enough he´s hard, cock filling and throbbing under his brother skillful touch, who knows his every weak spot after years of doing this to him. Carus´ face burns with shame, a deep sense of humiliation as he arches against his older brother´s hand, whimpering as a thumb caress his exposed head, smearing the leaking drops around in a circle. “Hmm, look at you, getting all horny,” Basil purrs against his mouth, as Carus pants shakily.

“P-please stop…”

“I don´t think so.” The older boy kisses his neck.

“We´re at- at school.” Carus tries to twist away from the wandering mouth, tries to push him away again. “Class is going to start.” His tone is desperate.

Basil nips his clavicle, turns his face down to lick the stripe of skin of his chest the shirt exposes. His hand slips out as he bends his legs, slowly kneeling and Carus stares at him, eyes wide, as he nuzzles his stomach. “S-someone could see,” he croaks out, fingers grabbing the sink.

The sound of his zipper sliding down is loud in the empty bathroom, and Carus´ heart pounds, his breath quickening.

“Let them watch,” Basil says indifferently and pulls down his underwear.

Carus shudders as his cock is dragged out free into the cold air, foreskin drawn back and exposing the leaking head. But Basil doesn´t allow more than a second to pass before he leans forward, one hand bracing his length as lips spread apart over his base, licking, slowly backing up to the tip and the sudden warm caress of his tongue pushes a whimper from Carus´ throat, a rasping, half-stifled thing. He reaches the tip, tongue teasing the slit before his lips are wrapping around the younger boy, suckling, drawing his cockhead whole into his mouth with a distorted groan as his tongue slathers over the length, swiping, and Carus moans helpless to the rush of pleasure spreading in a wave over his body – a tingle under his skin, making his nails scratch the sink and his toes curl inside his shoes.

It gets worse and better. Basil hums in pleasure as he slurps on his head, a hand wrapping on his base and pumping slowly. His knees soften, the boy bracing and holding himself on the sink, throbbing against the eager tongue of his older brother and pouring his pre, which is quickly swept off his tip. Mouth hanging open, Carus pants softly, shivering at each slide of that tongue across his length – watching as Basil leans down, greedily eating up fresh inches of his flesh as he grinds along the roof of the older boy´s mouth until he´s pressing into the flat of his tongue. Basil´s eyes flutter closed as his tip grazes a threshold of muscles, and raises his head, dragging till his crown just catches at his lips before smoothly pressing down to slurp him up again.

Carus gasps and arches his back, head falling back as he shuts his eyes tightly, shoes squeaking on the floor as he squirms slightly, his brother´s head starting to roll into slow, easy bobs between his legs, sliding his cock across the firm press of his lips and into the warmth of his mouth. He lets his tongue flat against his underside, the movements pressing strokes up and down as the hand on the base slides to meet his mouth half-way his length and Carus´ skin is full of shivers, blood hot and pounding into his ears.

In his mind, the wrongness of this is clear and sharp-- immoral by every tenet of common sense. Yet as much as he tries, every time, in the end, he cannot resist. This is far from being the first time his brother does something like this to him and the depravity of it doesn´t seem to occur to him, as it does to Carus. And still—Carus´s can´t fight the pleasure, sinful and vile as it is, from sinking into him despite his gut-wrecking shame.

His brother is far too good at this, and thoughts about right and wrong never survive for too long.

Basilides leans down, lips opening to consume his entire shaft and Carus is pressing suddenly to the back of his throat, sending a jolt down his cock and up to his belly, sparking up the heat of need with a sharp inhale. His eyes snap open as he feels soft flesh strain gently around his head, widening, mouth open in desperate panting letting out a long groan, face flushed hot when it opens ever so slowly. A sheath of delicious tightness inches over his cockhead and swallows it up as Basil´s lips sink towards his base, dragging him into a quivering slide down his neck. Carus shudders when he finds himself hilted, whimpering, the sink screeching under his nails as Basil takes one slow, tight swallow around him.

His mind is clouding, and his gaze hovers over the bathroom stalls on the other side, unseeing, as he draws deep, hasty breaths. It rushes out at once when Basil shifts back-- his tip slips free an instant, though, before he firmly swallows him up again, pushing the throbbing, drooling cockhead in a long grind down the inner wall of his neck. And Carus´ gasp and moans echoes against the walls, out of control as he rises and eats him up again, and again, taking long, slow slides up and down his length, before the boy bites his lips in a desperate attempt to stifle them – the back of his hand presses against his mouth, head falling forward, and it still doesn´t work. His hips are twitching, aching in need to move. He shouldn´t. He knows this and yet—arching back, he pushes forward just as Basil is sliding down, skin prickling in pleasure as he himself thrust inches into that snug throat.

Let the bathroom door, he prays, be enough to stop the sounds from echoing outside. The bell hasn´t rung yet. Carus pleads that no one comes to the drama club in the meanwhile, as he drags precious inches out of that tightness to shove in again, to drown in that cruel pleasure that is his brother´s neck. Soon enough, their bodies are rolling together, dragging away in opposite directions, come about, and pressing together again in union, the wet slurps and smacks of his brother's lips around his cock a soft, lewd background sound.

Drowning in constant, smooth, addictive pleasure, Carus feels his balls flexing in no time, shaft flaring. “B- brother-!” he tries, frantic, to warn but the surge of heat chokes the words among gasps and Carus is thrusting without thinking, orgasm overwhelming his control. He spills thick gushes right into Basil´s neck, desperate ropes one after the other, a throaty groan pulling from him as he clings to the sink. Basil doesn´t lean back even though he flinches slightly, and instead holds his hips in place, face buried tight in his crotch, and takes slow, tender swallows around his cumming cock, eyes slipping shut.

Carus shudders with a heaving gasp as the older boy drinks the last drops, weak arms barely managing to hold him standing when his legs suddenly give up. His whole body is quivering subtly, gulping air harshly-- only flinches, whimpering, as Basil draws back from his cock. His head pops free of the warm fold of muscles to the wider space of his mouth, and he watches with shivers as his brother slurps on his length one last time, tongue caressing in a swirl around his tip, before finally letting it slide off his mouth.

The older boy immediately looks up at him, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, brushing a thumb over the corner of his mouth as he licks his lips absently. His breathing is slightly uneven, but his expression is one of satisfaction.

He coughs once before standing up, a grin on his lips. He flicks a finger under Carus´ chin once. “There. One mind-blowing blowjob for my little brother,” he says pleased, voice a tad bit hoarse.

Carus turns his face away, more or less sitting on the sink now as he tries to regain his breathing, every single inch of him prickled with relief and lingering pleasure. The shame trickles back slowly in counterpoint to the fading shivers of his orgasm, and then surges fierce and burning all of the sudden, twisting his heart into a heavy mess of confusing feelings.

His eyes burn, as he angrily wipes the drool from his chin.

“We should go to class,” he says and it comes out as a harsh, breathless croak.

Basil rolls his eyes, reaching for his pack of cigarettes and taking one with his teeth. His eyes flick to the motion, to the sharp tips of his brother´s fangs – not once it nicked him and not once it occurred to him to worry about it like he every so often does when getting blowjobs from other people.

 _That´s because he´s being sucking you off for years_ , his thoughts whisper, _and he knows very well how to do it._

His face heats – for what reason, Carus doesn´t know. His stomach is twisting, a faint feeling of queasiness seeping into his chest as he shakily fixes his clothes, and blushing doesn´t fit well with the swell of _disgust_ inside him.

His older brother just blew him, and it was the best orgasm he had in weeks.

“I just got you off. Why the fuck you are still so pissed?” Basilides grumbles as he lightens the cigarette.

Carus can still taste tobacco in his mouth when he replies, angrily. “We are at school. What if someone had seen us?”

“Calm your tits, the bell hasn´t even rung yet.” He takes a deep drag, eyes closing for a moment as he holds the smoke inside his lungs. Then he breathes it out, forming a white cloud in the air. “Besides,” he says lazily, tilting his head at Carus with an unpleasant grin. “you can tell the truth. That your sick bastard of older brother molested you, and it´d solve the problem. Get me arrested and all that.”

 _Is that why you do this?_ “Shut _up_.”

Basilides sniggers, tapping the cigarette and letting the ashes fall on the floor. He turns to the door. “See ya, baby bro. Go to your classes,” he drawls without looking back as he walks away, hand slamming the door open uncaring. It hits the wall with a loud bang. Carus flinches. Doesn´t say anything as his brother leaves in a lazy saunter, the sounds of his steps fading and then disappearing as the door swings back and clicks shut.

Silence reigns on the empty bathroom for a moment.

Carus crouches downs, elbows on knees as he closes his eyes, letting his head hang forward with a shallow sigh. The harsh, messy pounding of his heart is loud and while the blush fades from his face, the acid burning in his eyes doesn´t – blinking doesn´t really help. Nothing helps in these cases.

Carus stays there until the bell finally rings.

**

(The first recorded cases of Lycanthropy date back centuries, but the syndrome only began to be studied from a scientific and medicinal point of view only a few decades ago. There are two well-known general assumptions, the type of information you gain if you go out to ask about it on the street:

1) the bite of a bearer of Lycanthropy can infect you;

and 2) the transformation occurs at the full moon.

Both, as with most knowledge passed on by spoken word by the general population, are wrong in the sense that the most accepted interpretation is wrong. Since Lycanthropy is a _syndrome_ and not an infection, you cannot 'catch it' just because a werewolf's saliva has entered your bloodstream, and the transformation does not occur at the full moon because there is no _transformation_. An A that becomes B, or a man who becomes a wolf. It is a genetic alteration. It is present since birth.

The origin of these two superstitions is coincidentally intertwined. Because Lycanthropy is a genetic syndrome, the logical leap that it is something passed on from parent to child also makes sense. However, it does not behave exactly like other syndromes. Instead of being like someone with Down Syndrome, people with Lycanthropy are like someone carrying pre-dispositions to develop cancer. That is, not necessarily everyone who _has_ the gene _develops_ the syndrome. It needs a trigger. The most common one? An external stimulus from another bearer.

Like, for example, a bite.)

**

When it happens, Carus was 13.

His father is organizing something in the car when his mother puts a hand on his head, drawing his attention. He looks up, neck almost protesting because his mother was tall. The tallest in the family, almost a head taller than their father.

“We´ll be gone for a couple of hours, okay dear? I think your brother is asleep, so don´t bother him,” she tells him, her voice a deep, smooth baritone, very pleasant to hear and rare in women. More than one person said it was a pity his mother didn´t have an interest in singing.

 _She could have been a singer very easily_ , they like to say.

Carus smiles at her. “Alright, mum.”

She smiles back, a small curve of her thin lips, which doesn't crease the skin around her eyes as it happens with his father. She does not bear wrinkles or scars, actually. Not even a single spot nor any type of marks on her skin. Carus never thought deeply about the strangeness of this, because his mother is the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he had decided some time ago that wrinkles wouldn´t match with her dark green eyes. It would take the focus off them, maybe.

“My little boy, so grown-up,” she coos, brushing his hair and Carus blushes and protests, but doesn´t step away from the gesture.

Then she leaves with his dad, leaving him behind in a quiet house. They will not be back for hours.

He finishes his homework and then goes to watch TV on the couch, brand new cell phone on hands to continue a previous mobile game. This is how the first part of the afternoon passes by and things were nice and quiet and perhaps a little boring, therefore Carus barely understood the reason why when, hours later, something made him look up suddenly, scanning the room. A tingling at the edge of his senses. Something... He turns off the TV without thinking and stills very carefully, trying to pay attention.

That's when he hears: a _tap-tap-tap..._

from the ceiling.

Confused, Carus follows the sound upstairs after a moment of hesitation and, after a brief investigation, to the door to his brother's room. He stops right in front of it, unsure of what to do. Now that he is aware of the noise, it is obvious and almost a little loud, a series of sharp clicks dragging from side to side, an occasional muffled _thud_ like someone bumping into something. Someone is moving inside and logic says it must be Basilides, but—

Carus suddenly hears a low whine. Like the keen of a wounded dog.

They don't have a dog.

Carus swallows nervously and reaches for the handle, opening the door slowly.

"Brother?"

The room is dark, the window and curtains drawn closed, and the light from the hallway behind him casts his elongated shadow across a floor covered with all manner of items left randomly, most notably clothes. In the darkness, Carus discerns black forms in the vague shapes of the furniture, including the large empty bed in the center of the room, and he is about to look around, call to his brother again when a movement draws his attention to the side and two bright eyes stare back at him.

Carus stumbles back with a shout, heart racing in panic. His butt hits the ground, elbows snapping painfully behind him. He immediately starts to crawl backward, kicking the ground to go faster, but soon his head bumps against the threshold of the door - the two bright eyes move in the dark and into the light, and then a hand steps into the rectangle of light, black nails curled in claws scratching the floor when the arm bends to take the next step.

Carus freezes, eyes wide.

The long black shape swallows the light and the body moves in a smooth gait like a slow wave, head closer to the ground with more pronounced shoulders, triangular ears flicking at any sound. A thick tail scrapes the ground between the hind legs, head hanging to the side with yellow eyes on the end of a long snout. Long and large and big, but it is not a dog, not even a wolf, arched in a way that an animal that walks only on all fours doesn´t need to arch, with hind legs but arms with fingers curled in claws. And even if Carus hadn't paid attention in Biology classes, he would have known what this strange hybrid of animal and human is from TV news only.

A strangled sound of terror burst out of his dry mouth and he lunges to the side, all thoughts in trying to run. But as soon as his hands are on the ground to push himself up, something impossibly hot and heavy slams against his back and the boy cries out, falling onto his elbows and knees. Massive, fur-covered hands hit the ground beside his, powerful thighs lock against his hips and Carus is enclosed, _swallowed_ in dense, thick _fur_ , his head against the creature's neck when it leans down, long snout baring teeth appearing above his head.

The beast huffs as Carus gasps shakily, heart hammering his chest in terror. He can´t move. He´s trapped.

Nothing happens for a heartbeat and Carus can´t even talk for all that he´s almost sobbing already, mind whirling with panicking thoughts. Then the creature shifts above him, pressing against his back. Carus feels something hard and hot slide against the back of shorts, draw back and do it again. The boy struggles, scared, attempting to see what its but with the way the beast´s arms are tight against his shoulders and its jaw firm above the top of his head, he can only look underneath himself and that angle doesn´t give him anything but the vision of the werewolf´s tail, framed by his legs.

The creature continues to buck against him almost angrily, making the terrified and confused boy swing a little back and forth above the ground. He can´t really fight it, the strength behind the movements too much for him, so he stays compliant, breathing faltering and hitching with fear, praying that it wouldn´t eat him or kill him.

Suddenly, though, one claw shoots down and grabs the waistband of his shorts and Carus hears a loud ripping sound. Jerking in shock, the boy snaps his eyes open and looks down, only to see his underwear suffer the same fate, strips of the colorful fabric flying everywhere. Panic renews his will to fight desperately to get away, his young mind thinking that the werewolf is taking off his cloth to _eat_ him—then something impossible warm pushes against his cheeks.

The boy jolts to a halt, confused. The claw goes back to the floor beside him, doesn´t even attempt to tear off his shirt. The creature bucks again and without the barrier of his clothes, that strange long thing slides right into his crack and spreads his ass cheeks apart. Carus gasps softly, feeling a hot, broad tip smears something wet on his skin as the werewolf moves, and the teen realizes the… thing is very, _very_ long when a particular buck pushes it down his ass, poking at his sack and soft dick and then pass to his inner thigh. He glances down quickly.

His eyes wides as he finally sees what is it: a thick, huge angry-red _cock_ , that dwarfs his own, with the skin at the tip rolled back and exposing a rounded, red end, leaking an odd liquid against his skin.

The boy freezes equally torn between incomprehension and uncertainty, fear forgotten for a moment as he tries to understand what the beast is trying to do, watching as the cock slides back as the werewolf moves, disappearing from view. The tip presses back on his crack, poking around as the monster bucks, and Carus stays still, confused. “What-” He starts before the prodding cock unexpectedly jabs against his hole and the words clog on his throat because instead of retreating like the other times, it abruptly _pushes_.

The teen jerks, gasps, and whimpers of pain spilling from him as the cock´s tip slowly pries him open, stretching and _stretching_. “No, s-sto-” The head pops inside with a spark of agony and his voice chokes into nothing. It doesn´t stop. The boy´s mouth falls open without a sound, eyes popping wide as the werewolf slides deep into his ass, slicked and hot and impossibly long, just too long and big – his walls _burn_ are they are forced so wide apart he can´t even attempt to tense, muscles strained beyond his control. He finally wheezes out a thin breath, forehead hitting the floor and it´s still not over yet, the beast is still pushing, and Carus´s nails dig on the floor, toes spreading open as he vividly _feels_ the scorching hot tip _slide_ into his belly, his gut filling taunt and tight and _God_ , it _still_ keeps going.

When finally, _finally_ the werewolf slows to a stop, claws kneading the wooden floor, the boy is sweating and shuddering, his mind a muddled mess. The sudden halt of friction inside him leaves his walls sizzling and numb, and Carus at last _breaths_ , sucking the air intensely, gasping. He wobbly reaches for his stomach and feels the heavy bulge, curving outwards all the way past his navel, and cannot understand what just happened-- but the beast doesn´t allow him the time to think. A creature with no concept of adjustment or gentleness, it immediately tugs its hips back, making the boy cry out as a fresh surge of overwhelming friction echoes up his spine.

The thrust happens half-way out, balls slapping sharply against his cheeks and Carus snaps his head up, tight throat allowing no sounds. He keeps his head against the creature´s neck as it drags back once more with a wet slurp of his panicking hole clinging to the cock, inhale drawing out only to the air rush out of him in a cry as the beast smacks deep inside him, jolting him forward and sending his head to the floor. Again it happens, and again, the poor boy being pulled back to then fly forward by the force of those hips – slowly morphing into a rough swing of his body under quick, hammering strokes, an unrelenting, impatient push and pull that drags all along his insides, grinding against his belly and stirring his guts. Liquids quickly build in inside him, slicking the cock to the point where the slippery, strange fluids are scraped by his hole and drip down his crack and sack, flowing down his thighs to puddle on the floor.

His own cock swings softly under those blows, the werewolf humping eagerly and filling both the room and the hallway with the wet sounds of their lewd encounter, accompanied by the poor teen´s overwhelmed sobs and groans of pain. With his forehead pressed on the floor, tears overflow in his eyes as his virgin ass is so brutally violated and used by a creature without a mind to care about the damage it is doing.

Faintly, Carus´s mind comes to the comprehension of what´s happening. The memories of the healthy classes he had, the few videos he saw with his friends… and the boy finally understands – he´s being _fucked_. The werewolf is _fucking_ him. Even though is different from what he saw, about boys and girls and that he was supposed to put his dick inside a girl to make babies. Instead, there´s a cock splitting his asshole open as a monster thrusts against him, and Carus has the dim realization he´s losing his virginity.

His first time, and it´s with a beast in the threshold of his brother´s bedroom, in an empty house.

“P-pleas- s-st-” the words are wheezed out between whimpers and groans, for breathing is a problem. With his body trembling under the assault of bizarre sensations, jolts of electricity running through his back to his very toes and fingertips, pricking his scalp, turning his limbs numb, at the same time he´s imprisoned by a cage of powerful and unmoving muscles. The werewolf´s broad chest and belly heave against his back with its deepening breaths and those huge, stout arms stay locked under his shoulders, elbows on the floor behind his own and can-crushing claws digging on the floor above his tightly-coiled fingers. His legs are left with no space to move, pinned between solid thighs that tighten and relax in turns to bring its hips down and hump his ruined rear.

There´s no sharp slap of their hips connecting – a large bulge is swelling at the base of that cock for the last few minutes, pummelling against his ring, allowing it not to slip all the way in anymore. But even if there wasn´t, almost any sound when they collide together is smothered on the creature´s thick fur. Long and coarse, it envelops Carus almost fully, hugging his skin. Almost sweltering warm. His shirt is drenched in sweat, with drops trickling down his face to drip on the floor.

Temple pressing down helplessly on the hallway´s floor, hot, damp air washes over his face. The werewolf is panting down on him, its muzzle a couple of inches above his face as it growls and huffs, ears perked, eyes closed. Its movements are getting an edge of impatience, drawing less and less and instead pounding that swollen base insistently against his strained hole. The ears flick flat on the creature´s head, lips curling to bare a little bit of teeth and the thrust melts to pure point-blank grinding as Carus's upper body is suddenly pinned to the floor by the powerful chest, furred arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Carus´ throat draws ragged with moans and gasps, whole body quivering with a surge of new, high tension. Something is about to happen, he somehow knows, something- something terrible that he should fight off, should try to stop. An edge. A line that if he crosses, there´s no turning back. _Stops this!_ He can feel the bulge pushing and pushing, and his eyes start to wide more and more as he feels his ring strain, cramping- slowly, ever so slowly beginning… to… stretch. “No-” he chokes out, tries to squirm away. In vain. Giving in with the most agonizing gradualness, ring quivering just a hint as it drags and clings to the throbbing bulk of that bulge-- and then in a violent shove, it slips in.

Throat shutting close, Carus stares the wall in pure shock with mouth hanging open for a second. But it doesn´t last. The werewolf jerks back and the boy cries out as his hips violently follow the movement, ring sealed airtight behind that bulge and not allowing a single inch to slide out. The beast huffs and snarls, gripping his shoulders in place while it pulls and tugs brutally, scraping his insides into a red-hot burning, his gut churning as the cock grinds around wildly, two weighty orbs slapping against the poor teen´s thighs. And Carus is certain he´s about to split apart and die, his body unable to endure those massive, muscled hips dragging his ass around with terrifying fervor, side to side, up and down, following erratic stabs and pulls as the tip shears at his inner linings.

He almost doesn´t hear the deep rumbling growl rolling out of the werewolf´s throat before sudden heat _explodes_ inside him. The beast stops moving and just pushes once, holds itself as deep as it´s possible. Carus heaves air shallowly, whole body trembling, blinking foggy eyes as the monster grunts above his head and the heat keeps pouring. _Liquid_ , the boy realizes after it starts just-- _filling_ him, flooding the depths of his bowels and rolling down his crack, flowing down his thighs in heavy rivulets. The boy gasps, it turns into a gurgle-- feeling nauseous, bloated, as he had eaten way too much, he can´t breathe, heat is surging up his throat. Suddenly, the problem is solved as thick, salty liquid bursts from the back of his throat and into his mouth.

Carus coughs, white and dense liquid spattering on the floor before he manages to draw a single, shuddering breath. Another push of heat and saltiness spurts over his tongue, as the creature grunts in satisfaction above his head, snorting puffs of air with the muzzle slightly slack, tongue lolled out. The cock is throbbing very keenly inside him and the tide mercifully starts to tamper off. Breath finally hisses weakly through his throat and the teen coughs painfully and whimpers, a soft, pitiful sound, as he stares at floor dully sweating and shivering, his mind a white noise of nothing.

The viscous goo dribbles between his lips and down his chin, coating the entirety of his mouth, as it drips from his soaked wet ass cheeks and soft cock down his thighs. The werewolf is still above him, for a moment only breathing heavily through the nose – the absence of sounds is almost a noise itself, a silence that lingers across the hallway and bedroom the same way the rough claiming did, punctuated only by the creature´s rumbling panting and the Carus´ sobs and soft moans. The air seems to sizzle a little, body heat rolling out of him in waves and staying trapped by the fur covering him whole.

There´s a thick smell of sweat and something… more. Carus is too dizzy and numb to try to understand it.

Then the pause breaks. The boy snaps out of his stupor as his insides shift – warm flesh sliding out of him, causing the trickle of the strange slime fluid to renew to a stream. And rather noisily whimpers drag out of his sore throat, a sound of pathetic protest while he writhes on the ground with eyes screwing shut, hips jerking as inch after inch of werewolf cock draws out of his ass. His muscles spasms, almost cramping, the drag smoothed out by the slime fluid to a slide not making up for the sheer volume being dislodged.

When the head finally pops out, liquid splashes out of his hole and Carus gasps and then pants, body shuddering and quivering as he feels still horrible… agape.

The creature gets out from on top of him and the second its powerful grip disappears, the boy collapses in a messy pile on the damp floor. He doesn´t move an inch beyond the rise of his shoulders as he heaves. His body feels numb.

His thoughts are jumbled. Lethargic.

 _W… what_ …

Carus breathes shakily. His vision is blurry as he gazes at his limp hand, dipped in a small pool of white.

His shirt is drenched.

There´s that _tap-tap._ The werewolf walking, his claws making a soft percussion on the wood. It´s making a guttural sound, panting forcefully as if in distress – his eyes move to the beast without his input, a wave of tiredness and exhaustion making hard for him to keep his eyes open.

The werewolf moves to one side and the other with head low and ears flat on the skull, something jerky about its movements. Then, abruptly, it collapses flops on the floor.

The lull of unconsciousness withers as Carus watches, eyes wide, the creature coiling into a ball with his fur bristling-… and then melting away, shriveling until smooth, human skin starts to slowly emerge, half of its body size gone with the fur. Sharp spine bones stand out on the arched back, awkward broad and bony shoulders curved inward as long arms wrap around the stomach and the dark fur fades from everywhere, except the head. A black mop of hair, mussed, long on the top and short on the sides.

A human gasp. Hacking.

The person shifts, quivering, dragging an arm underneath him to turn on his stomach. “W… what…” The voice rasps so very weak.

There is an angry red, swollen bite mark on his neck. Fresh. Still bleeding.

The person raises their head to him.

And Carus stares back at his older brother.

(“This feels very personal,” the legist says, crouched over the already soaked-red sheet, “even wild werewolves tend to just rip off the head. Complete dismemberment indicates rage.”

The police officer hums, tapping a pan over a notepad. “A fight that went wrong?”

“We don´t know any werewolves,” his father speaks softly from his side, standing guard with his arms crossed over the chest and back towards the ambulance. Carus is leaning against the side of the vehicle, and can´t exactly see inside.

But he isn´t trying anyway.

“No one from your family? Your sons?”

“We don´t know any werewolves,” his father repeats, as quietly as the first time he spoke.

“What about your wife? I´m sorry, I have to ask.”

There´s a pause.

Carus can taste it on his mouth.

“She avoided them. Her mother was killed by one when she was fourteen.”

The police officer makes no expression, but she reaches for her cap and tugs it down, stuffing the notepad in her pocket. “I´m sorry about this,” she says quietly.

His father hums and turns to the ambulance, climbing back inside. It´s possible to hear his muffled voice speaking something. Gentle. Reassuring.

Carus watches as the woman sighs and turns to the legist. “What do you think, are we looking at a murder?”

“Most attacks are accidental.” The guy carefully takes a picture. “Or as accidental as a werewolf attack can be, anyway. Transformations are dictated by emotions and it´s rare a bearer of the syndrome who has the mental discipline to force one.”

“But it´s possible?”

“We are talking Buddhist monk-level of discipline here, dude. The statistics are almost nonexistent.”

“So, at the most, we have manslaughter in our hands.”

“Yep.”

The police officer crouches down and using her pen to lift the sheet, take a peek inside. “Then we either have a hot-headed murder or someone really, really pissed.”

The legist cocks an eyebrow.

“Why can´t it be both?”

The woman sighs, dropping the sheet. “Let’s wrap this up and let the dad take his kids to the hospital.”)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, feel free to visit me in my [tumblr](https://play-of-kids.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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